


Everybody Knows This is Nowhere

by LNJames



Series: This Did Not Happen (and Nothing is True) [1]
Category: South of Nowhere
Genre: AU, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-18
Updated: 2007-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9188327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LNJames/pseuds/LNJames
Summary: Small towns can be the worst kind of unforgiving. You can’t have a secret and you can’t be a stranger. Both were true for Spencer and Ash.





	

Small towns can be the worst kind of unforgiving that you can imagine. People know your business and judge you quicker than lightning. You get sick of seeing the same faces looking guilty at church and there are seven of those in town. That works out to about a hundred people per church, except the United Methodist Church claims to have the largest attendance, a fact they’re proud enough of to put on a sign just outside of town. That would be Sheffield. The town. Wright County if you want to get technical and I suppose I should mention Iowa. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Small is small.

And if you’re a stranger passing through small towns, people are bound to notice and talk. It gives them something to do down at Pat’s Café. _Hey, did you see that couple drive through town yesterday? Had Oregon plates. What they doing clear out here? Did the marshal check ‘em for drugs?_ This is how it goes between the old VFW guys having coffee and eggs and bacon. Cigarettes and talk are all they have now, I guess.

If you have ever lived in a small town, you know what I’m saying is true. And you don’t necessarily believe what they say about Midwesterners being friendly. Looks are deceiving, that’s for sure. I know too many people in town who, in their own cruel ways, can cut you deep where no one can see, and what they do to their own families is sometimes worse. Gossip runs fast here and the marshal has loose lips with his friends in town about who’s done what wrong. There’s no use trying to hide here -- I’ve failed.

You can’t have a secret and you can’t be a stranger. Both were true for us.

I work at Johnson’s Market after school sacking up people’s groceries. If you asked me what people eat in Iowa based on what I carry out to their cars, I’d tell you Wonder Bread and Kraft Colby cheese. We go through racks of bread and cases of cheese like you would not believe. Betty, the manager, once marked the wrong thing down on an order form and we got a case of Extra Sharp and no Colby. No one was happy. I finally had to pull the Extra Sharp off the shelves a week after it expired because only one brick had been sold and we knew no more would.

I should mention that I am not usually this talkative. I’m actually very quiet. Too quiet for the likes of many people and too quiet makes them suspicious. If you stick out in any way, people notice and remark. I apparently am also too short, too skinny, read too many books, have shaggy sandy hair that needs a cut because it’s always in my eyes, could dress better if I tried, might actually get a girlfriend if I did, and isn’t it strange that I never seem interested. I hear enough of this from my two older sisters and my mom that I have it memorized. My flaws. Isn’t it convenient that people keep a list for you and help you remember it?

Under all that, I’m just me, a 17 year old junior living in a small town in Iowa trying to get by under the radar and hope I make it out alive. I don’t like sports, I want to study history in college, I hate broccoli, I have one friend who knows my secret, I believe in hokey things like destiny and fate, and…I kissed a boy last night for the first time. You heard it: Spencer Carlin kissed a boy and I do not feel the least bit guilty.

I’ll back up because that part might have blown you away a little bit. The kissing part. The boy part. It did me. When you are the son of Dr. Paula Carlin, town physician and upstanding member of St. Joseph’s Catholic Church, you are not allowed to do any such thing. In fact, you are not allowed to acknowledge that anything remotely like that exists. Ever. I do not need to tell you how it would go over with the rest of the people in Sheffield. Remember how friendly people in the Midwest are supposed to be? Try explaining that whole boy kissing boy thing to them and find out how far that goes down at the legion post.

I’ll back up even more and tell you how my life changed last night. Not because you care, but because I happen to think that we only get one chance in this life to really live and if you don’t grab it when it finds you, you’re going to be stuck someplace regretting what could have been. I read a lot of history and when they say it repeats itself, they are not kidding. That’s why I like to choose what’s going to be my own history so sometime in the future, I’ll be patting myself on the back saying Thank you Spencer Carlin for that, I owe you. We are nothing if not practical in Iowa.

So here goes. I finished up my shift at Johnson’s and had just walked out the door. It was Saturday night and we close at 9 pm on the weekends. I was usually out of there ten minutes after that. I do wonder how things might have been different if I had left a minute earlier or later. You know, that whole fate thing. I might have missed him completely.

As it was, I had just stepped off the curb to walk home when this beat up old Chevy truck comes barreling into the parking lot and nearly runs me over. At first, I thought it was one of the Bickel brothers driving drunk again looking for cigarettes. We all knew those guys real well. But when I saw the California license plate, I might as well have been one of those old men sitting at the café because my first thought was What are they doing clear out here?

“Hey, sorry about that.”

I looked up and there was this guy, maybe my age or a little older, looking sheepish, stepping out of the truck and slamming the door shut.

“No problem. Have a good one.”

Unlike some folks around here, I prefer to be polite rather than not. There’s no reason to make a stranger feel unwelcome. I wouldn’t appreciate it if I was visiting somewhere and someone jumped my case over nothing. That’s just me. I moved the hair out of my eyes before I started walking again. I was glad I took off my work shirt before I left and threw on my old red Iowa State t-shirt, it was way too warm out for long sleeves.

“Have a good one what?”

I stopped and looked back at him. He was leaning against his truck and had his arms crossed, smiling a little bit. Everyone says Have a good one around here, it’s like saying Catch you later or something. I never really thought about it much so I paused before I shrugged at him.

“You know, a good one whatever. A good night, a good time, a good visit, whatever you’re having, I hope it’s good.”

He chuckled and I looked at him, really looked at him this time. He had shortish brown hair that was wavy and a lot messed up, he wasn’t real big but he was fit, had sunglasses on top of his head (at night no less), was wearing Levis with flipflops, and this t-shirt that probably said something ironic. I didn’t want to stare so I can’t tell you how ironic. As you know, trends come slower to the Midwest so they might have bypassed irony by now and gone back to sincerity. It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that he had this lopsided grin on his face that wrinkled his nose. That, I noticed.

“Okkkay, it’s all about the good. Got it.”

I smiled back because I didn’t know what else to say, it seemed unwise to offer up another meaningless phrase. I put my hands in my pockets and started walking home. I could find my way in pitch black through this town and sometimes wish they never approved all those streetlights at the town board meeting. I like walking in the dark. But no, the ladies at United Methodist pushed it through and now the whole block of downtown is lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Hey!”

I was about out of the parking lot when I turned back towards his voice. It was just the two of us out there because Betty was still inside finishing the books for the night. He walked a few steps towards me and used a thumb to point to the store.

“Do they sell beer in there?”

I laughed a little because even if they did, it was closed and two, this guy was no older than I was. Why he thought he’d be able to get beer in Sheffield on a Saturday night after 9 pm is beyond me. And why he was even here to begin with was starting to work its way out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

He looked down at himself and then back at me with a grin.

“What gave it away? My flipflops? Be honest. It’s the hair, right? It just shouts ‘Hey! I’m not from Iowa’, doesn’t it?”

I laughed despite myself and shook my head.

“Does your hair often shout things?”

He put his hand to his chin and rubbed it a little.

“Not so much these days. It stopped after I made that wrong turn in Albuquerque and I blamed it for getting us lost. We’re not exactly on speaking terms right now, if you must know.”

Who was this person? This was crazy. You do not just have random conversations with out of towners about their talking hair on a Saturday night after work in Sheffield Iowa and if you do, you might start to wonder what the heck is going on. But you might also wonder why you don’t particularly mind having this crazy conversation with this stranger tonight.

“Well, they don’t sell beer here and I don’t know where you’re going, but if you can make it to Ft. Dodge, you might find a place to sell you some. But I’m going to be honest with you.”

I paused and he raised an eyebrow. From the store lights, I could see that his dark eyes were amused.

“Yes?”

“You have a better chance of getting hit by a meteor tonight than you do of buying beer. You’re only, like 17 or something.”

He walked over to me as he pulled out his wallet. He flipped through a couple of cards until he pulled one out of the back and looked a little smug. The name on the card was Walter Fishbein who lived at 491 E. 13th St. New York , NY . And he was, according to my calculations, 46. I looked at the picture closely and noticed a slightly balding man with thick glasses and a moustache. I looked up at the guy in front of me and tried not to laugh.

“Walter? Can I call you Wally? Trust me when I say this will not work anywhere in Iowa. It won’t even work down in Missouri and they sell liquor and cigarettes to babies, I think. You don’t want to be thrown in jail in Missouri, trust me. I’ve heard stories. Not pretty, Wally. Not pretty.”

Who was this person? This time I was talking about me, the guy who loves history and who is too suspiciously quiet. It was easy with him and I had just met him a few minutes ago. Summers in Iowa can make you kinda crazy, I guess. Actually, this I know to be true -- I just didn’t expect it to happen to me.

“You’re talking Deliverance not-pretty, aren’t you? Yeah, ok, I can see your point. I thought it was worth a try. I’ve been driving way too long and just wanted to get a six pack and find some field out here and I don’t know, forget.”

That kinda struck me as too honest to be sharing with me. Usually when someone says they want to forget, you assume they’re talking about something painful. Plus it adds an air of mystery to the conversation right off and you have to be a fool not to be curious.

“Forget what?”

The guy reached up and rubbed his arm and that’s when I noticed the tattoo banded around his bicep, black lines and red. I couldn’t help but stare at it because what kind of teenager has a tattoo. Aren’t they, like, illegal?

“Oh, you know. The usual. Life. The road. Where I’m going. Where I’ve been. That kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

Really, it was the only thing I could think to say to that. What else is there?

“Hey, sorry. The name’s Ash. Ash Davies.”

He held out his hand to shake mine and the only handshaking I usually did was with my Dad’s friends when they tried to test the strength of my grip. I could tell from the look on their faces I never lived up to their expectations. I don’t know why but when I felt his fingers grip mine, I could not get it out of my mind that it wasn’t about testing me for once. It was just two people greeting each other, making contact.

“Spencer Carlin.”

Ash raised his chin and his eyes squinted a little.

“You mean like Spencer Tracy?”

Most people don’t get that around here. After my mom saw Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner the first time, she decided that the next child she had she was going to name Spencer. Lucky for my sisters that my mom saw the movie after they were born, I guess. Though I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad name for a girl. Spencer Carlin. I must have looked strange because Ash felt the need to explain himself.

“We’re required to know movie things in California. It’s a law or something.”

I smiled. My parents liked to pretend they lived in California instead of Iowa sometimes, mainly in the winter when the snow hits hard. They would insist our whole family have movie night and we must have gone through the entire classics section that Fred’s Video had, which isn’t saying much I admit, but that’s what we did during the winter. There wasn’t much else to do. There rarely is even when it’s warm. That thought made me kind of wish I lived in California right now, doing whatever they do there, doing anything.

“Hey, you know what? My dad’s got some beer in the garage. I could probably get away with snagging some for you. If you wanted.”

I don’t know why I offered. I probably wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. I didn’t know this guy or what he was running away from, but I think the warm summer night and the way the parking lot got dark all of a sudden when Betty turned off the store lights made me a little reckless. I could see Ash looking at me, his face barely readable in the darkness.

“Yeah? You’d do that for me?”

I shoved my hands in my cargo pants pockets and shrugged.

“Sure.”

I could see his white teeth flash a smile.

“On one condition. You drink a few with me.”

Could I do that? It was Saturday night and I didn’t have anyplace else to go but home and there wasn’t anything there for me. Except my parents, but they were probably watching TV. I’m sure my sisters were out on dates or something. I hardly ever go out, never get in trouble, never cause any worry. Yet another reason why I’m not like other guys. So what it came down to, really, was why the hell not?

“Let’s go.”

I smiled and we got into his Chevy. I had to make some room for my feet so I shoved aside the trash and other stuff on the floor with my shoes. Wearing red Chucks in this town was yet another seditious act of mine to add to the list. Remember, my supposed flaws? Anyway, Ash’s truck smelled like a mixture of leather, oil, and, surprisingly, suntan lotion. It smelled a lot like summer.

I pointed him down Main St and we drove in relative silence, me showing the turns here and there. I didn’t live too far from the store and of course the town wasn’t that big. When we pulled up into our driveway, he shifted into neutral, flipflop on the brake, and left the truck running. We lived up the hill on Maple and our house was kind of big. Not too fancy, but it stood out because it sat on top of the hill and it had a big yard. I mowed the grass every week these days so I know how big it is.

We have lots of trees and in the dark, you could hear the wind blowing through them. I fall asleep to that shhhhshhh sound at night, sometimes it’s all you can hear at 3am. Sometimes it’s all you want to hear at that time of night. Once, at midnight a couple of years ago when no one was home but me and Dad, I heard the screeching of tires and the thud of a wreck way out on I-35. The silence after that was chilling. He and I drove over to check it out, because that’s what people do in small towns: chase tragedy and secretly pray for big fires. Luckily, no one was hurt too badly in that wreck and my Dad and I were the only thankful ones there, except for probably the couple in the smashed up Buick. The middle of the night around here is both a blessing and a curse, I think.

“Nice place.”

Ash murmured over to me and I could see him checking out my house, curious but trying not to act it. I wonder if his family had a house back in California, whether it was big or small, or maybe he doesn’t even have a place anymore and that’s why he’s here.

He is like this mystery and I always want to figure out mysteries, know about the kinds of things people don’t talk about. The things they hide. Secrets. Anything that hints I’m not the only one out there. He leaned back in the seat and his hands rested on the bottom of the steering wheel and I could see them gripping it casually. I don’t know why his hands caught my attention, but they did. They looked strong and sure, like I wished mine could be more often.

“I’ll be right back.”

He nodded at me before pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes and leaning his head back. This stranger and his wavy crazy talking hair and that tattoo on his arm just sitting in my parent’s driveway and me feeling a tightness in my chest I have never felt before. I think it was then that I realized I was having one of those rare times – I would be able to choose my history tonight. I could feel it in the air and almost taste it on the wind.

I made quick work of poking my head inside to tell Dad (and in the process, avoid having to tell Mom) I was going over to Charles Lewis’ house for movies. Charles is the one friend I mentioned earlier, the one who knows my secret. He’d cover for me if only because he’d be impressed that I actually did something that needed to be covered. I slipped into the garage and grabbed my old backpack, loading it up with PBR that Dad drank. He wouldn’t really miss it and if he did, he’d blame my older sister, Jen, with good reason. I won’t go into describing my sister because it is not important to the story and she bugs me most of the time. If you have an older sister or brother, you already understand.

I made it back to the Ash’s truck and put the beer in the back before climbing in. He had music, old Tom Waits it sounded like, playing low and he looked over at me and smiled. I couldn’t see his eyes with the sunglasses on, just my reflection in the dark.

“So where to?”

At his question, I shrugged and held up my hands to answer.

“Anywhere.”

He smiled bigger and took off his glasses as he put the truck in gear.

“I love anywhere.”

I know the cornfields around Sheffield like I know the streets. The headlights of the Chevy flashed against the endless rows and we sped down gravel roads, too fast, and left dust trails behind us. The wind was blowing through the open windows in the truck and I felt like I was in a black and white movie. It was strange and other-worldly even though it was my home.

Ash slowed down when I pointed to the edge of a wooded area at the end of the road. A farmer’s path cut along the outside and you could drive back in there and be surrounded by corn on one side, woods on another. I’d been here before, alone, on my dirtbike, out looking for a place to be where the people in town weren’t watching every move waiting for me to slip up. Plus you could see the stars like crazy and it was so quiet you might think you’re the only living thing in miles. I loved it.

Ash cut the engine and lights and we sat there a minute, letting everything settle. I could hear him breathe in and I wondered whether he missed the salt in air from the Pacific. I assumed you could smell the ocean where he lived, but who knows. We were completely landlocked in Iowa and I really think that most of the people in this town like it that way. Makes them feel safe or something. Many have never been more than a few hundred miles outside Sheffield. This is why the unknown scares them a little, I think.

Ash didn’t say anything and got out of the truck. I followed and watched as he climbed up in the back. He stood there in the truckbed, hands in his pockets, looking straight up into the sky like he had never seen it before.

“Wow.”

He kept looking up at the stars and I put the tailgate down and sat, reaching for the beer. I knew how clear you could see out here. Unlike some stuff about my small town, everything here was all out in the open and visible if you looked hard enough.

I cracked open one beer and handed it to him before I opened one for myself. Ash settled down on the tailgate next to me; I could feel the truck shake a little with his weight and he took a drink. Our legs dangled over the edge, his flipflops and my Chucks not quite reaching the ground. His satisfied voice broke the silence.

“This is what I’m talking about.”

I smiled and drank from my can, the bitter watery taste filled my mouth and I swallowed, trying not to act like this was the first time I had drank a beer. Which it wasn’t, but I don’t think it counts when your Dad gives you a sip when you’re five years old at a 4th of July party where most of the adults are drunk off their asses. Not surprisingly, I didn’t care for it then, but I was determined to drink it like it was old hat now.

“Cheers.”

Ash held up his beer and I touched mine against his and smiled back.

“Cheers, Walter.”

He threw his head back and laughed, deep and real and for a long time. It sounded good to me, like it fit in out here. He looked over at me with a smile.

“You can call me Wally, remember? We go way back. Didn’t you used to run that liquor store down the block in New York?”

I chuckled and played along.

“Yeah, I used to sell you beer when you were only 17, Wally.”

He took a drink and nodded.

“I could always count on you, Spencer. You were there for me, buddy.”

I took a sip and even in our joking, the way he said my name in his alto voice resonated in my head. No one said it quite like that or maybe I never heard it said like he did. It doesn’t matter, I was trying to keep up with something that was racing inside me. I ran my hand through my bangs to get the hair out of my eyes and looked up at the stars. I could see Ash looking at me for a long time before he laid back in the truckbed and joined me in our stargazing.

“Have you ever wanted to be someone else, like just for an hour?”

It was out of my mouth before I could stop it and if you asked me why I said it, I couldn’t tell you. I glanced back at him, he had one hand behind his head and the other holding his beer on his stomach. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath. He seemed to consider what I had said and took some time thinking about it. I turned and let my eyes fall on the rows of corn, their stalks swaying in the wind.

“Sometimes.”

I kind of expected a longer answer but he didn’t say anything else. I finished my beer and reached for another one. The silence was all around us now, except for the cicadas chirping a pattern in the woods. Ash’s voice floated up to me.

“I sometimes wish I was somebody who had a place to be. You know, where people cared if I showed up and wondered where I was if I didn’t. Like I mattered to someone.”

He was real quiet after that and so was I. I wondered what it must be like not to have had what I do. I may not always like them, but I have a family who cares about me and a place to call home. As much as I complain about Sheffield and the people in it, I know that I matter here, in some small way. Even if I’m a little different. I have this at least.

“Who do you want to be, Spencer?”

I looked down at my hands and ran my thumb along the sharp edge of the opening in the beer can, not enough to cut, just enough to feel. I spent a lot of time thinking about that very question. I know what I didn’t want to be. Who I couldn’t be. Not in Sheffield Iowa. Not now. I guess by default that told me everything I needed to know. Honesty cut like no metal ever could.

“I want to be someone who fits together better than I do. I want it all to make sense for once and not feel like some stranger, always living on the outside, you know?”

Ash sat up and looked at me. I turned and caught his eyes. Then boom. It was like you could actually feel something sting as it passed through skin, like really feel electrons jump ship from his body to mine. I imagined it was some kind of invisible message in a bottle, coded and secret, thrown out in the ocean just waiting to be read. I sure as heck had never felt that before and I can only tell you what I know: I did not want to miss this chance to live for once and regret being too scared to choose my history. I could feel Ash’s breath against my face as he spoke, the faint scent of beer and the night air mingling.

“We’re not strangers, Spencer. You know that, right?”

I swallowed and my head buzzed. I could not blame this on the beer or the darkness. The wind blew up just then and ruffled Ash’s hair, briefly sending it into a mess of waves. I imagined that it looked like his California ocean at night, crashing against the angles of his face. I glanced at the curve of his jaw, his eyebrows, the way his lips hesitated. There was the faintest bit of the day’s growth on his face, but there was a smoothness underneath. I wasn’t sure if I was reading the right signals or getting the same message.

“What do you mean?”

I wanted to give myself time to catch up to this, whatever it was. Deep down in my bones I could feel something settle in to stay. I pulled my eyes away from his and looked back down the farmer’s path, willing myself to breathe calmly.

I saw Ash nod and take another drink of his beer before tossing the empty back in the truckbed. He reached over and took mine from my hand and I looked at him. He drank the rest of my beer in one gulp and looked up into the sky again. What did he see? What did the stars out here tell him? His voice was low but I heard it.

“Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe this isn’t even happening. You could be dreaming this for all I know. Three days ago I got into my truck and just left. I don’t know why. I woke up that morning and knew I had to get out. I didn’t know where I was going, I took whatever road looked like the right one to me.”

Ash paused and ran his hand through his wavy hair, scratching the back of his head a little bit before he looked down at his beer.

“And tonight, I drove by this crazy big sign and it was for some church that was proud of how many people went to it or something. I mean, it was like they needed a sign to reassure themselves that what they believed was real because hey, look how many people agree with them.”

He laughed a little and shrugged.

“I don’t know. I wanted to see what kind of people lived in a town like that. I met you and had a taste for beer all of a sudden.”

I smiled and shook my head.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

He squinted at me in the dark and it was like the handshakes my Dad’s friends give me. Testing me, seeing if I was really who I said I was.

“Maybe not, Spencer. But I think that when you look back on your life and string together every random moment, there’s a pattern there that makes sense only in that order Like it tells the story of your life. And it’s like, it couldn’t have happened any other way. All these random moments strung together to get you where you are, wherever that is.”

That was spooky. Way spooky. I watched as Ash’s tattooed arm pointed back the way we came.

“Take that farmer’s path we just drove down. You knew about it and I didn’t, but because we met, it’s now a part of my story. And here we are, two random strangers, sitting at the end of this path in Iowa, wishing we were someone else.”

What can you say to that, especially when you knew it was true?

It was at this point that I decided to just go with it. Actually, it was the only choice I could make in this situation and I knew it was right even if it was wrong. I had to stop worrying about what other people thought. Small town or not, it was my life, not theirs. You can either let other people run your life for you or you can run it yourself.

Ash was looking at me when I turned my head to him and he was so close I could smell that damn suntan lotion in the air between us. I’ve always been a big believer in what they say about the eyes: They never lie. Ash Davies’ eyes said it was true. We weren’t strangers. I knew him, he knew me. I didn’t flinch when his hand went to my knee, but I was sure he could hear the blood pounding through my body.

“You know I’m going to kiss you, don’t you?”

No one had ever said that to me before. My head was swimming and the stars were just so bright.

“I know.”

I whispered this, mainly because it was so quiet and I didn’t trust my own voice. I’m pretty sure my hands were shaking and I might have been a little sweaty. Ash leaned even closer and I could feel his shoulder against mine, his eyes riveted to mine.

“We know each other, Spencer. Believe it.”

I turned towards him and watched my own hand reach up and touch his face. It was a strange sensation, my fingers against the light stubble on his cheek. I was expecting roughness, but it was so crazy soft. Feeling brave, I ran my shaking hand through his hair, watching dark strands move against my fingers. It felt so very new and yet so familiar.

“I believe it, Ash. You have no idea how much I believe it.”

My voice was almost hoarse and Ash smiled a crooked smile at me. I tried to breathe, tried to remember how to do that, when his expression suddenly turned serious and I knew this was it. This was our story.

Again, I expected roughness for some reason, but his lips on mine were probably the softest thing I had ever felt in my entire life. I could feel him turn into me and his arm was around my shoulders, pulling me to him. The kiss itself was pretty tame, Ash just letting his lips rest against mine. That is, it was tame until I opened my mouth a little because I wanted this to last and I wanted to remember it sharp and clear.

Next thing I knew, Ash had his hands in my hair and I hear him take a breath against my mouth before the kiss became something more than I think I can handle. But I do and it’s what I want more than anything and it does this slow burn to fire in no time and I can barely breathe. I taste beer and spit and the night air and Ash all mixed up. My history and his tangled; I knew then that life or fate had strung together our random moments and brought a truck from California to my small town at exactly the right time. Maybe the kissing part was by choice though, because if I could, I would choose to keep kissing Ash Davies like this forever. The way he found me and how his lips were everywhere and his hands stayed strong and sure told me what my head would not.

In those minutes, he made me feel like someone who actually fit together the right way for once and I wanted Ash Davies to know that he mattered to me, that he had a place to be.

Too soon, it was over and we were resting our foreheads against each other breathing like we’d been underwater too long. Ash’s hand was still in my hair and one of mine had found its way to his arm, I looked down and saw my fingers pressed against his tattoo. Ash had his eyes closed and he looked so peaceful, just inches away from me.

“You ok?”

I could see his lips whisper this to me and I couldn’t help myself from moving my head down to feel his cheek against mine, rough and soft, scratchy and smooth at the same time. I could smell something clean like soap on his skin. His ear was so close to my mouth now and I breathed into it.

“Are you?”

I pressed my mouth against his neck. I think I might have tasted the ocean on him, salty and sweet. I could actually feel the shudder move through Ash’s body and his hand went to my shoulder, squeezing me tight. He smiled against me, I could feel it, and his mouth found my own ear too.

“Yes, but not if you keep doing that to me.”

I pulled back and looked at him. Even though there was a grin on his face enough to wrinkle his nose, I could see from the look in his eyes that we were on the edge of something big. I smiled back at him and we both took a deep breath before we moved apart, settling back to our spots on the tailgate. We both exhaled into the night and I was happier than I could ever remember.

It was so dark out there but I could see everything so clearly, every stalk of corn, every blade of grass, every leaf on every tree. When you live in the country, you kind of forget how beautiful it can be. I notice these things. Before this night, I probably would have said that noticing stuff like that was one of my flaws, something that marked me as different from the people back in Sheffield, Iowa. Before I met Ash a couple of hours ago, I would have also believed that secrets and strangers was a dangerous combination here. But you only have a few chances to really live and life is short.

I smiled a little to myself and laid back in the truckbed, my legs dangling over the edge while I checked out the stars in all their glory. I saw Ash lean his head back and look up, his dark hair shifting on his head. I watched a satellite travel its orbit across the sky and felt like I was making my own path too.

“I'm having one.”

Ash’s voice broke the silence and he looked back at me. I leaned up on one elbow.

“Having one what?”

He chuckled and I could see his teeth shine as he smiled.

“You told me earlier to have a good one. I just wanted to let you know that whatever I'm having right now, this is good. Great, in fact. Better than great even.”

I laughed and smiled back. Sometimes it could be easy in the Midwest after you cut through all the other stuff going on in the background. Two perfect strangers could become friends or something more and the world would not end. The people in Sheffield would go on being who they were, life in a small town would continue, and histories would be written. I was Spencer Carlin, a 17 year old kid who kissed a boy for the first time and finally felt whole. I was who I was supposed to be.

I mentioned earlier that my life changed last night and you can see why. I’m not really sure what the future holds for me or Ash Davies. I don’t know where we are going now. All I know is that our paths crossed by fate or design or by the grace of the United Methodist Church and its big boastful sign. I have a feeling that whatever happens next is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Sometimes you get lucky living in a small town. You never know who you might meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in the wayback year of 2007 in what was the Spashley forum. My pseudo there: adastranot


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